A Day in the Life of a Single Father
by TheIncredibleDancingBetty
Summary: A collection of oneshots, all about Splinter raising the four boys. Turtle ages are posted on top. All stories are in Splinter POV 4th Story: Sometimes you're kids are more wise than you think, especially with someone as empathetic as Michelangelo. (1st chap Raphcentric, 2nd fluffy-feelgood 3rd Doncentric)
1. Troubles with Raphael

I don't own the TMNT

Turtle Age: 5

Hope y'all enjoy the story! Thinking about being in Splinter's position raising these four made it interesting. Hope it gives you an appreciation of parenting!

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Raphael glared at Michelangelo as he scooped up another spoonful of Frosted Flakes. "Aw, man! This is so AWESOME! It's a shame you can't have any! But don't worry, yours looks good too!" he said, indicating the plain oatmeal that Raphael was eating. Michelangelo leaned over until he was nearly under Raphael's chin, lips smacking as he talked with a mouth full of milky cereal, rubbing his stomach with his free hand while moaning with pleasure. Raphael's teeth clenched and he balled his fists.

I had hardly had a chance to sip my tea but the current situation needed some diffusing. "Michelangelo! Stop teasing your brother this instant! Sit up straight and don't talk with your mouth full!"

He popped up ramrod straight, although he still sneaked an overly-enthusiastic glance at his brother. "Sorry Sensei!" he said, spraying chewed bits of food across the table.

"EEEEEEEEW!" Donatello made a face, yanking his own bowl of flakes away from the offending debris. "Say it don't spray it dummy!"

"Hey, I'm not a dummy, you…you…you…dummy!"

Donatello rolled his eyes and smirked. "WOW! How long did it take you to come up with THAT one!"

Michelangelo responded by blowing him a raspberry, which of course resulted in more half chewed flakes to be sprayed across the table. Everyone erupted in a chorus of fresh 'eeews.' My ears twitched in irritation and I slapped the table with my palm. Everyone jumped and stared at me with wide eyes as if I had just appeared out of nowhere. I narrowed my eyes. "Michelangelo! Clean this mess up at once! The rest of you, no more talking at the table!" Donatello looked down with a chagrined expression on his face. "I would like to have some peace with my meal!"

With an exaggerated groan Michelangelo heaved himself off the table in a dramatic fashion, acting as if he weighed more than he did. A muscle jumped in my jaw at his disrespect. Lashing out with my tail I caught his thigh with the tip, causing him to yelp and jump up with more speed, practically sprinting to the kitchen to obtain a clean rag.

Leonardo watched with a slight look of superiority on his face, seeming to take joy in the fact that he was the only one so far to not have gotten into trouble. A long minute crawled by until he snuck a sidelong glance at Raphael. "Why can't you have any cereal Raph?" he asked under his breath. Raphael's face darkened and his muscles bunched as if he was going to get up.

"Leonardo! What did I say about talking at the table!"

He snapped to attention and did his best to look solemn. "Yes Sensei, sorry."

I waited another moment to ensure that the mood had diffused before I finally picked up my cup. I grimaced. Cold tea. Again. With a sigh I shook my head. Just once I would like to drink my first cup while it is hot. Not wanting to waste I gulped it down quickly before getting up to get another cup, passing Michelangelo on the way.

Raphael glared at his food, still not saying a word. I said nothing, not wishing to cause him further attention from his brothers but made a note to tell him how well he was controlling his anger today. Indeed he was improving.

No sooner had I exited the room then I heard another teasing jab being made at Raphael. Suddenly there was a loud crash and all four of them were yelling, especially Michelangelo with a high pitched squeal. Groaning to myself I whipped around and found everybody but Raphael covered in oatmeal. Raphael had Michelangelo's head trapped between is intertwined legs, his face turning slightly purple as Raphael's legs tightened slightly. Raphael's hands were busy lobbing little fistfuls of oatmeal at his other brothers, stopping every now and then to slap a handful on Michelangelo's head. The entire time they were making such a raucous noise that it caused my head to ache.

And here I was thinking about his self-control. Furious, I swung my walking stick, striking Raphael on the head. Eyes wide his hands immediately went to his head where I had struck him, unintentionally smearing more oatmeal. I slammed my stick down on the floor. "CLEAN IT UP NOW!"

All four of jumped up, voices rising in protest and attempts at explanation.

"We were just asking a question!"

"It's not our fault!"

"He started it!"

"Why can't they just shut up?!"

"This isn't fair!"

"I wasn't being bad!"

"WHAT!"

"Yes you were!"

"NO!"

"Dummy!"

"I SAID don't call me a dummy!"

"But you are!"

"Shut up!"

"No, YOU shut up!"

"Master Splinter, he told me to shut up!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

My head was beginning to ache more than before. Teeth clenched I slammed my staff down again, interrupting them. "Do as I said NOW!"

Hopping up as if I had shocked them, immediately they all set to work, Raphael 'accidently' jabbing a brother here and there while the others returned the favor. One accidently sent another crashing to the ground with an overly enthusiastic jab. Squealing, the fallen brother kicked the other's legs out from under him. I grabbed them both by the tops of their shells and hurled them bodily to their feet, saying nothing but giving them such a glare that immediately they quieted. When I turned around I heard another 'accidently' bump into another with a slight snicker. My tail thrashed in anger and I considered reprimanding them for it but abruptly decided against it. At least they had started cleaning. As long as they were doing as I said and caused no more chaos at this moment…

I stepped back and marched myself into my room. With slightly shaking hands I steepled my fingers and took a deep breath, holding it in my lungs for a moment before releasing it. I repeated this several more times until I felt my heartbeat begin to slow to a more normal level.

Another crash resounded from beyond my wall. A sharp flash of irritation swept through me as I whirled to face it but abruptly decided against it. I must calm myself first. Nothing good comes from acting in anger. It sounded good in my head although I must admit that it is difficult to carry out on days like today.

Silence emanated from the main area as my sons waited in seeming terror for me to storm in. When I did not approach hurried whispers urged each other to clean up the mess before I came out and saw it. They were thinking that perhaps I would not notice. I shook my head. Did they really think that I could not hear them? Ah, for now I was content to let them continue in their ignorance.

After the morning meal I decided that some training would be good for them. Give them something to focus on and perhaps expend some excess energies. Also it normally set to put me more at ease. This was something that I knew much about, something that I found to be relaxing in and of itself.

The forms that they knew, that I had taught them, were supremely simple at best but it matched their age and abilities well. The goal at this stage was not to learn the complexities per se, it was more to cement in the basics until it became instinctive and they would get full realization of the control that their bodies could influence over themselves and others.

Individual sessions went along as they normally did. Michelangelo's athleticism made him remarkably agile, although he needed work on his focus. Somehow I felt that this would continue to be an issue for him. Donatello continued to have problems with over-thinking his routine and doubting his own ability. I would have to meditate further on how to let him learn to improve his skills. Leonardo's focus and style had always been superb and he reveled in the training as a chance to show off his skills. Raphael's blatant aggression and arrogance bothered me sometimes, although he knew how to channel it well; that is until he let his anger grow.

The issue started when I set them up into sparring teams. Since Raphael and Leonardo were more closely matched I paired them together. The fight was over relatively quickly, ending with Leonardo hitting the carpet. Raphael smirked as he stood over him, causing Leonardo to glower at him. "You don't have to act like that!"

He crossed his arms. "You're just being a cry baby 'cause you lost!"

Leonardo's scowl deepened. "I'm not a cry baby! You're not being fair! TRUE ninjas don't act like that!"

"So true ninjas get their butt beat instead?"

Leonardo surged to his feet, tiny tears beginning to form in his eyes. "THAT'S NOT WHAT BEING A NINJA IS ABOUT!"

Raphael stared at him for a moment and then sniffed. "Crybaby."

"Raphael!" I interjected. He looked at me, his arms still crossed. I took a breath and tried to speak as gently as I could. I did not want to sound like I was berating him. "Leonardo is right, true ninjas use honor in all things, including victory."

"See!" Leonardo hopped, pointing a finger in Raphael's face.

Abruptly Raphael punched Leonardo in the face, pouncing on his brother as he fell, delivering another blow. Striding forward I picked them both up clear off the ground, effectively separating them. "Raphael! You do not attack your brother like that!" I swung my gaze over to his brother. "Leonardo! That was an dishonorable thing to do!"

Leonardo lowered his eyes. "Yes Sensei." He bit his lips for a second before looking at his brother. "Sorry Raph." He half grumpled.

His brother sneered. "Shut up! You don't mean it!"

That was enough. The small remainder of the training session was tense. Raphael refused to apologize to his brother and spent the rest of the time practicing his flips in the corner as punishment. My other sons did not put themselves fully into their training, the spat had ruined their resolve. I ended up terminating the session early.

I did not allow anything to happen at lunch. Placing them at different corners of the room where they could not possibly touch each other and forbidden to speak we at least had a bit of peace, albeit a strained one.

I could not keep them separated, however. Not only was it nearly impossible in our modest sized home but I wanted them to learn the skills to co-habitate and resolve difficulties peacefully, something they could not do if kept apart. I tried not to think of the fact that they would not ever get along all the time and any real improvement would not be realized soon. After all, they were only children.

They were old enough that I had started teaching them lessons in basic education. It was difficult at first until I learned where to look for materials that helped me exceedingly.

I reached into my cabinet to take out the workbooks. They were slightly tattered. I had rescued them from the garbage in a nearby school and was fortunate to acquire them. There were one of each major subject: math, reading and science. Each grade level was represented with a different book at a different difficulty. They were thrown out simply because they were slightly outdated. I shook my head. It amazed me sometimes how wasteful some people could be.

Placing the kindergarten level workbooks in front of each of my sons I had them open up to the page that they left off on. Donatello furrowed his brow. "Mine's different from last time Sensei."

I smiled with pride. "Yes, Donatello. I decided that what you were doing was too easy for you so I want to see how you do with this one instead."

His eyes widened and a smile spread across his lips. "But this is for FIRST grade!"

I smiled. "Yes, I am aware."

Bouncing with excitement he ran over to me and gave me a hug. "Oh THANK you Sensei! Thank you!" Nearly skipping he went to his book and opened it up.

Raphael scowled at him. "Why are you so excited about SCHOOL?"

Michelangelo stared at his own book, rubbing his eyes. "Yeah, it's so BORING!"

Donatello smiled. "You guys are just jealous!"

"No I'm not!"

Sharpening his pencil and testing the tip he looked at him through the corner of his eyes. "Uh-huh. Whatever you say Raph. I'm just going to read the instructions by myself now." He put a finger on his chin and feigned contemplation. "Can YOU read yet?"

"I'm not a dummy!"

He smiled. "YOU said it not me!"

I rapped my staff on the floor. "Enough! Both of you!"

Raphael pointed a finger at his brother. "But I can see it! He thinks he's smarter than me, just like Leo thinks he's better than me!"

"I'm cuter than you!" Michelangelo quipped in before I could stop him.

I caught Raphael mid-leap as he attempted to pounce on one of his brothers. Picking him and his workbook up I carried the kicking child to the other side of the room and placed him unceremoniously in the corner. Squatting down to his level I looked at him eye to eye. "Raphael. You must stop this. Behave yourself."

Tears formed in his eyes as he put his balled fists against his eyes. "But it's not FAIR!"

I wanted to hug him, embrace him into me but I resisted. He was being punished for his misbehavior. I sighed instead, willing self-control. I reached out and stroked his head. "I know that it is not fair, my son. You, it seems will be tested more than most, but you must learn self-control. You must learn to get along."

He crossed his arms and turned away from me, presenting his back, jerking my hand off, effectively cutting me out. I hung there for a moment, sudden hurt piercing my heart. I tried to tell myself that he was a child, he did not mean it. He was simply upset. Yet although my mind knew these facts my heart would not let go. But he must learn somehow. He presented obstacles for me that did not exist in his brothers, but sometimes I wondered if I was handling this correctly. But I could only do what I knew to do. I would meditate on it later, but I was not sure what else I could come up with.

Although initially tense the remainder of the lessons for the other boys soon lightened and went smoothly. I had to give Michelangelo extra help to understand his studies, Leonardo stopping to try to help by offering his own point of view which I think helped. Not wanting to be too outdone, Leonardo practiced his reading. He was now able to discerne simple sentences. Donatello was excited about the new workbook and begged to continue working on it after lessons were complete. I could see no reason to deny him so he spent the remainder of the evening working on the different subjects, running over to me to proudly show me each newly completed page. Each time I praised him for his work he seemed to get more exited and I was glad that I had gotten all of the elementary school grade level books. At this rate he would be complete with the 1st grade within a week or two. I could not help my pride. Leonardo chose to practice the simple katas that I had taught him. After an hour or so he asked me to tell me more on ninjitsu then decided to meditate with me, although I think that it was more mimicry than meditation. It was cute nonetheless. Michelangelo, ever the free spirit, was content with looking at the comic books that I had procured for him. Although he could not read yet he loved looking at the pictures of the superheroes and spent a large amount of time zooming around the Lair with a blanket cape, eventually prodding Leonardo and later Donatello into his rambunctious play. I loved watching their innocence.

Immediately after Raphael had finished his lesson he spent the remainder of the evening in self-imposed isolation either sitting on his own or doing little punches to the punching bag that I had recently hung. I worried about him, I would have preferred if he could play with his brothers, but I did not interfere. Perhaps time to himself was what he needed. Time to think. Perhaps this was a stage that he was going through, one that he would grow out of. He seemed to take things so seriously for one so young.

I welcomed bed time. I did not even plan to stay up after putting the children down, so tired was I. When the lights were out and the children tucked into their beds I slowly walked to my own bedroom. It seemed that no sooner had I laid down than I was asleep.

When I awoke it was late, or early, depending on how you saw it. For a moment I laid there staring into the darkness, wondering what it was that woke me up. Then I heard it, a slight snuffling sound. The gentle whisp of cloth dragging across the floor. Pushing aside my blanket I got out of bed. Tying my robe I silently padded across the Lair.

There was little Raphael, crying, dragging his sheet across the floor to the crude washing basin that we used for clothing. I watched him for a moment then approached the sobbing child. Gently I placed my hand on his head. Startled he jumped up and stared at me while the large tears continued to pour from his eyes. Abruptly another sob wrecked his little body and he shoved both fists in his eyes, his chest heaving mightily. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

Startled by his sudden apology, I sat down and hugged him to my chest. At first he resisted, then he wrapped his little arms around my neck and buried his face in my shoulder, soaking my fur with his hot tears. Cradling him I crushed his body tighter to mine, stroking his head softly with my hand. Sitting on my haunches I gently rocked him back and forth, humming comfortingly deep in my throat. We said nothing at first, we simply took comfort from each other. I cherished it, almost coming to tears myself at his obvious pain.

"My son, I love you so much. I love you." I continued to rock him, deliberately not telling him not to cry. He needed this release, I could feel it. He needed to get this out.

Eventually his sobbing calmed, and he pulled away from me gently, his tears leaving us both damp. Hiccupping slightly, he rubbed his eyes and looked away, as if ashamed to meet me after this display. Gently I cradled his face and guided his eyes to mine. "My son, what is wrong?"

His green eyes flitted over to the stained sheet that was still clutched in his hand. I sniffed and detected the unmistakable smell of urine. He stamped his foot. "I did it again!" He stomped again several times and his chest once again heaved in sobs. Again I held him until he started to quiet once more.

"Do not worry. These things happen."

"Not to my brothers! Not to them! Why me!"

I shook my head. "I do not know. But do not worry. We will clean it up. We do not have to tell anyone."

"You have to punish me."

This again. Just like yesterday. I shook my head. "No."

He glared at me. "Then I'll do it myself. I won't eat any sweet cereal again! I won't play! I won't do anything! I don't deserve it!"

"No!" He started. I shook my head again. "You have done nothing wrong!"

He sniffed and looked away. "Yes I have. I've been bad all day. I can't act like Leo, or be smart like Don, or be happy all the time like Mikey. I'm not like them. I'm WRONG! I'm BAD!"

"NO!" I grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him slightly before once again hugging him to my chest. "You are my son! I love you for who you are, for what you are! We all have our problems, Raphael, even your brothers. You seem to be more aware of your own, perhaps because yours is more easily seen. But that does not make you any better or worse than your brothers. You are just different. You are my son, my beloved son. You are strong, you are proud, you have determination, stamina and the vitality of life."

Silent tears still streaming down his cheeks, he sniffed. "But you love them more!"

That seemed like a slap in the face. Was that what he thought? How could I have caused him to think this! "No!" I rubbed my cheek against him, blinking back my own sudden tears. "I love you more than you will ever realize. I love you as only a father loves a son!"

He was silent for a moment, as if taking in the information for consideration, his fingers absently playing with my fur. "Even when I'm bad?" his voice was tremulous, barely above a whisper, as if afraid that I would snap at him.

I smiled. "Yes. Even when you are bad. It does not matter what you do, good or bad, I will always, ALWAYS, love you and be proud of you."

He stilled. "Really?"

"Yes. Really."

"Really really?"

I hugged him tighter. "Really really."

After a moments hesitation his little arms tightened around me, his face nuzzled into my chest. "I love you Daddy."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and smiled wider. "I love you too, my son."

I helped him clean up the sheet, neither of us talking yet the mood light despite our sudden emotional exhaustion. Looking up to his room, Raphael turned, carrying a fresh sheet. I stopped him. "No. Your bed is wet. You may sleep with me tonight."

He looked at me, eyes wide. This was something that I rarely allowed. "Really?! But I might wet your bed!"

I smiled and shook my head. "No, somehow I do not think you will have any more problems with that." With a little giggle, he latched himself onto my leg, both arms and legs wrapped around it. Pretending that he was heavier than he was I half walked, half staggered to my room with him giggling into my fur. No more problems indeed.

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How was that for my first one? I haven't really done a touchy-feely story before so I hope it comes to par. As a parent myself, I think that a lot of us forget that parents aren't perfect! But we do try! Be sure to let me know, via review or pm if you have any ideas or experiences you would like me to try out.

Well, please leave a review and tell me what you think, I love to read them and they are great inspiration.


	2. Springtime Fresh

I don't own the TMNT

Turtle Age: between 1 and 2

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I sniffed and made a face. It did not seem like that long ago, I was walking amongst fellow humans, in the daylight. The sewers were not that bad, but the smell was. It was made worse by my more sensitive rat's nose.

Fortunately my run today was successful in many ways. I had acquired some relatively fresh bread, I had found a large pile of clothing and a shelving unit that a moving family had tossed on the curb and discovered a restaurant that was apparently well known amongst the scavengers for throwing out very good fruits and vegetables. They only had minimal bruising. But the special surprise was some air fresheners. They came from a higher end grocery store where I had discovered the managers allowing gang members to sell drugs on their store grounds. It made me feel justified enough to swipe the odd box every other week or so. I did not always have the chance to look for labelling to see what was inside it. Most times it was boxed meals, canned goods or dry goods. This time it was full of air fresheners, which somehow made me realize how much the smell had been bothering me as of late.

The smell was not as bad in the new home that I had located for us. For nearly all the first year after my mutation and rescuing the young turtles that I soon thought of as my sons, we had truly lived within the sewers amongst the grime, garbage and the more...pungent remains of whatever people happened to flush down their toilets. We never could stay in one spot for very long, there was always something very wrong with each location, most times with security. It always made me extremely nervous to leave them alone for as often and as long as I had to in order to acquire the necessary materials for our survival. I was extremely fortunate to find this space several months ago. It appeared to have originally been either a worker area or for storage, most likely for the extremely delapitated and long abandoned subway system. The security was excellent, I was fortunate to find a way into the place and with a few days work and scavenged construction materials I was able to improve upon them, though I was still hesitant to leave the young ones behind. Perhaps, though, this was simply because I never thought it was appropriate to leave infants alone without any supervision.

Cleaning was the next task. Now that I had decided to stay, it was nice to put some true effort into making the area more livable. Hopefully it would help to ease the continuous sickness that all of my sons had in one form or another. Already I had over two weeks of no cases of diarrhea and no fevers so it looked promising.

Stepping through the heavily concealed entrance, I surveyed the space once more with a hint of pride. Clearing out all of the debris had truly revealed how much space it truly had. I had sectioned off three spaces, one as a room for myself, another for my sons and the last for storage. The walls were partially pre-fabricated, having been tossed aside at a deconstruction site. I was surprised about how much over the last year I had learned about what types of things people threw out. My ears twitched as I listened for a sign that my sons were awake. I had left as soon as they were asleep on the plastic covered toddler beds. I heard nothing so I preceeded to drag in the large bags and boxes that were somewhat precariously strapped to the child's toy wagon. Stopping by the area that I had set aside for a kitchen that looked like it was originally part of an employee lounge I dropped off the bread, fruits and vegetables that I had scavenged. Moving silently across the large area save the annoying squeaks of the wagon's wheels I dragged the wagon and took out the clothes and the large dresser, which was completely taken apart. I knew that I had some screws and was fairly certain that I could put it back together. Leaving them in my room to sort through later I finally took out the box of air fresheners. Slowly I stuck my nose in the box and took a long inhale.

How I had missed pleasant smells!

With a smile on my face I rifled through it. There were several types of plug-ins that I could use if I ever fully figured out how to make the outlets work. Right now only two in the entire large area still had power going to it and, though it was tempting, I was not about to utilize them for fragrance. I brought out several aerosols which I would spray later. Most of the box was filled with simple conical wax air fresheners. Excited, I decided not to save too many of them and swiftly set about scattering them throughout our new home, looking forward to when they would start kicking in.

Silently I crept up to the room where my young sons were. Peering inside I saw them all sprawled across the small mattresses set upon the freshly swept floor. Except for that the room was still barren of furniture. I smiled when I saw them, love filling my heart. Leonardo was lying spread-eagled, his limbs twitching as if he was dreaming of flying. Donatello was curled in a ball with his bottom sticking straight into the air. Michelangelo had apparently crawled off his bed and was now curled tightly against his older brother Raphael, who was lying on top of his face in return. Reaching in, I gently rearranged them, fearing that Michelangelo might have difficulty breathing through Raphael's plastron. Michelangelo whimpered and squirmed a little and for a moment I feared that I had woke him up. But instead he simply licked his lips and promptly reattached himself to his brother, though this time with his snout unencumbered by his brother's flesh.

Walking away I smiled, finally feeling some sense of security. It had truly been difficult before I had found this place. The issues were exemplified by the fact that, although the turtles were infants, they did not act like human infants. They were able to crawl right away, making it difficult to keep track of them and making me literally have to enclose them in something before going to the surface to find the supplies. Here, at least, I was certain that with their current physical limitations they could not easily escape.

Looking at the rescued armchair that I had managed to clean off somewhat reasonably, I considered sitting down for a while. It seemed to beckon me. Then I abruptly decided against it. No, I could not. There was too much to be done.

With a sigh I approached the 'kitchen.' I had chosen this location because it had a sink and a functioning outlet. I made a face at the sink. Through my newly heightened senses of smell and hearing, I knew that, perhaps due to a fluke, there was water running to the pipes supplying the sink, but something was wrong and the actual sink faucet wouldn't work. Fortunately, through several weeks of searching I had found a manual for plumbing and was planning on trying to fix the issue. Truly I should probably try to work on the only toilet in the area instead, indeed I very much missed such a simple pleasure, but the thought was honestly daunting. I had never tried to fix a toilet during my human life and feared that if I did something wrong and broke it that it would be broken forever. Best to practice on the sink. From my searches I knew that replacement parts for sinks were easier to scavenge.

Opening the plumbing manual I stared at it. I spent the first hour simply trying to correctly label all of the individual pipes, then another thirty minutes locating all of the connections and identifying them. It was then that I realized that I didn't know exactly which tools to use and had to search through the book, hoping that I had the right ones. Coming across tools was harder than anything. People apparently had more of a respect for their tools, which were normally within a securely locked building, which had a locked garage, which had a locked toolbox. Luckily I had the right basic type of wrench. I fiddled with it for a moment, familiarizing myself, then realized that I had forgotten the key components about the piping system and had to look it up once more. It was enough to make me want to rip out my hair. How do plumbers do this!

I had the sink's plumbing halfway disassembled, scattered around me and still unsure what exactly I was doing when I felt something touch my tail. Startled I whipped around, hated wrench in my hand, to see Michelangelo playing with the slender tip of my tail. Immediately I relaxed and cradled my head with my hand for a moment. How could he have sneaked upon me so easily? My head was pounding. Perhaps I need a break from this infernal plumbing system. It was obviously driving me to distraction.

Smiling, I reached out to my smallest son, stroking his head with my hand. He turned to me and smiled, letting out a small giggle. I gasped when I saw the bluish tinge to his lips. With panic stabbing my heart I grabbed him forcefully, yanking him closer to examine him with wide eyes. Immediately I was assaulted by the strong aroma of...Rain in the Springtime? The blue color wasn't in his lips, it was on his lips...and clumpy. My thoughts raced to find a solution. Then I saw, slightly beyond him, two wax air fresheners with all the contents scooped out of them with tiny fingers. The same ones that I had scattered throughout the Lair only a few hours before.

Still holding tightly to Michelangelo, who seemed oblivious of my panic, I snatched up the now empty conical container and stared at the label. 'Keep out of reach of children and pets. If ingested call poison control immediately.' Poison control? NO! I have poisoned my own son!

Suddenly I was frantic. What could I do! Call poison control! But how? I had no phone! Where was a phone! I had to get to one! Michelangelo cooed in my arms. Holding him up I examined him once more. He didn't appear to have any difficulty breathing, he appeared in good spirits, but how long would that last? Turning I ran into my room and opened my small change purse. I had enough change for a few phone calls through a pay phone. Snatching up the bag, I nearly ran out of the Lair once more before remembering the others. What if the others wake up and consume them as well! I did not have time for this. How could I have put my family in this position! Sprinting faster than I had in a very long time, I swiftly ran about the Lair, snatching up all the remaining air fresheners and tossing them in the garbage. Using the child gate I locked the others in their room as extra security before running out with Michelangelo under my arm.

It took five precious minutes to locate a payphone in a reasonably secure location. With shaking fingers I put the coins in the slot and dialed the number, which was fortunately listed in the emergency numbers on the phone itself. It seemed like an eternity before a person on the other line picked up although it was hardly a few seconds.

"Hello, poison control, how may I help you?"

"Yes, my son has consumed an air freshener!" I stared at him. He was sitting by my feet, his attention once again engrossed in my tail. He was still breathing normally and showed no sign of distress. Yet the fear was still alive within me.

There was a pause at the other end of the line. "Excuse me? What type of...air freshener?"

My fingers massaged my scalp. We did not have time for this! My son could be dying! "The ones composed of wax in cone plastic." My eyes darted around checking for nearby people. Seeing none I looked at my son again. He was playing with his toes.

"Oh, okay." Another pause. I felt like striking the phone. "Um...I need to look this up. We haven't really had someone call about...that before." I ground my teeth, not trusting myself to say anything while she looked up the information concerning the freshener. Idiot woman! How could she be employed like this! I pictured all the things that I might have to do. Would I have to induce vomiting? Induce diarrhea? Maybe give him something to absorb it? Maybe there was nothing that I could do...maybe I had killed my son...

"Well...sir...it doesn't look like it's deadly."

My ears twitched. "Excuse me?"

"Well, it's just wax. There might be some complications. There's a chance that he might become constipated. If it didn't burn going in, it might coming out...but other than that he should be perfectly fine."

It was as if she splashed me with cold water. This was not what I had expected to hear. The relief was enough that my knees weakened. "Thank you." I croaked out and hung up the phone. Silently I stared down at my smallest son. He looked up at me and giggled, clutching my robe to his face and nuzzling it like a cat before rolling on his back and kicking his legs, his body language begging me to tickle him. Smiling I picked him up with slightly shaking arms and hugged him to me. How close I might have come to losing him!

Nuzzling my face against him, I smiled as he pulled at my whiskers. My nose twitched and I chuckled. Finally. Something that smelled good!

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TRUE STORY! When my son was that age he literally ate one of those things and that's literally what poison control told me. It must have been oozing from his pores because he smelled FANTASTIC for about a week and had a few days of the freshest diapers I had ever experienced. My son reminds me SO much of Mikey that I couldn't help but use him for it.

I know it was a relatively slow chapter but not all of parenting is exciting! I wanted to include the image of Splinter as handyman because if you think about it, he had to do _everything_ until Don was old enough to take over. He had to be a jack-of-all-trades. A true renaissance man...er...rat.

On one more note, I've received a couple of requests for Leo-based tales, but might need to open my suggestion box for that one since he's one of the harder characters to get right for me. Gotta throw me a bone here!

Please read and review! Once again, if you have any ideas you would like me to use please feel free to tell me either via review or pm.


	3. Troubles with Donatello

Disclaimer: I don't own the TMNT

Turtle Age: 6-7

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I shook the last child awake, who promptly groaned and burrowed deeper within his covers. Frowning I shook Michelangelo harder until with a moan he sat up and rubbed his eyes. "It can't be morning _already_, I just fell asleep!"

"Yes, you did. Nine hours ago. Now stop arguing and get up." I turned and walked out, trusting that he would eventually get out soon enough to eat breakfast. Yesterday he took too long so he went without and acted as though he were wasting away until it was time for lunch. I had a haunch that he would not make the same mistake again.

Donatello had woken up with minimal protest, though he still seemed somewhat wary. I sighed. The previous day he had gotten into trouble for not listening once more. I did not know what to do with him, normally he was one of the better behaved out of the four turtles, but during the last four months or so his distraction and inattentiveness was beginning to wear my patience thin. In my mind I knew that this was not fair, that most likely I was becoming more irritated simply because I had always expected more of him, perhaps held him to a higher bar. In any case, I hoped that today, just as I had hoped yesterday, that he would give me no trouble.

In the adjoining room Raphael and Leonardo were already up and making their beds. I smiled. I had completed the construction of the other room several months ago, which consisted of putting up several walls, in order to give them more personal space. I was in the process of putting up a third, though from the tense competition that was beginning to form for it, each wanting a room to themselves, I was considering not allowing any of them to move into it until I had completed the fourth, thereby giving each of them their own room at the same time.

Heading down to the kitchen, I placed the tea bag in my cup and poured the hot water in it. Plucking the string, I swirled it and allowed it to steep. Frowning, I looked at the worn face of the small burner that my tea kettle sat upon. I was not sure how much longer it had. It was quite old and outdated. It simply consisted of a single burner upon an electronic stand several inches thick. It was electronic and I was fortunate to find one that functioned. Somewhat warily I eyed the large stove that I had moved into the kitchen area two months before. It was very nice. Indeed, I was more than certain that it had all of its parts; yet it would not work. Our previous one met an unfortunate end.

My whiskers twitched in irritation at the memory. Come to think of it, that was when Donatello first started displaying the distraction that now caused him trouble. In short, he was destroying things. I had come into the room only to find the main components of the stove in pieces everywhere, with Donatello in the middle. On top of that, he had used my tools without permission. Tools were extremely hard to find, unlike food humans tended to take very good care of them. In the middle of the scolding Michelangelo had tried to help clean up by throwing away some pieces. I not only had no idea how to put it back together, especially since it was a newer model, but the now missing pieces drew the line in the sand. The stove was un-fixable. I ended up having to toss it out. The worst part was that Donatello could not even give me a proper explanation, he would not give me any explanation at all. He simply stared at the floor in silence. I warned him about touching such things, how they could hurt him and how difficult it was for me to find a functioning piece and then haul it down here unnoticed. Still he had said nothing. Not knowing what else to do, I grounded him with a stern warning not to repeat it.

Slowly I examined the newly acquired stove. It took me months to fully fix the sinks and the toilet. I was still extremely nervous to attempt the wiring of the Lair, as long as a few lights worked, albeit dim, I was willing to push it off until later. The stove, however, was another matter. This was the best one I could find since Donatello took apart the other one and I was working myself up to the thought that perhaps I might be able to fix it. I had found more than one type of book on electronics, if I studied it hard enough I may be able to figure it out. Until then, I was reliant on this single, old, portable burner who's days were obviously numbered.

I had the children get their own cereal as part of my more recent encouragement for them to care for themselves as much as possible. Not only was it easier on me, but it put my mind more at ease when I went to the surface to scavenge to think that they could do the bare necessities themselves. In silence I watched as they got the worn jug full of dehydrated milk that I had mixed with water and poured it on the cereal that I had, eh, tactfully acquired from a local store. Still I had to zip to Michelangelo's side to make sure he didn't flood his cereal in a torrent of milk. Michelangelo, hardly aware that he nearly made yet another mess, smiled at me. "Thank you Sensei!"

I noticed Raphael's unusually dry cereal. "Raphael, you must use milk, we have discussed this before."

He made a face. "But I don't _want_ milk. Milk is for babies!"

Michelangelo snickered. "Well then that'd be the _perfect_ reason for you to have the whole gallon!"

Raphael, who was always in a sour mood in the mornings, punched Michelangelo in the arm. "OOOOOOOOWWWWIIIEEE! Sensei! Raph hit me!"

"Stop being a little baby tattletale or I'll give you something to cry about!" Raphael hissed, fist balling for another punch.

With a squeal Michelangelo dumped the contents of his bowl over Raphael's head and ran away screaming. Covered in milk and flakes Raphael charged after him, knocking over the chair and bumping into the table on his way. He ran after his brother and chased him around the Lair.

I gritted my teeth and massaged my forehead. There was another headache coming on, I knew it. My anger was palpable. Why could we not have ONE breakfast in peace? Both boys had made nearly a full lap around the Lair and were doubling back towards me, by this time so distracted in the chase that they passed within a few feet of me. Sticking out my tail I tripped them both. Raphael landed on his brother, then immediately preceeded to rain blows upon him while he squealed and writhed. Grasping both shells with my hands I held them off the ground at arms length, feet dangling. Taking a moment to attempt to calm myself but succeeding only partially, I glared at them both. "Michelangelo!" He cringed. "How many times have I told you not to make a mess or tease your brothers! You know better! Raphael!" He quieted, looking sullen. "I want you to have milk for its nutrition, we do not always have the best food, you need to take advantage of it when we have it. And no beating on your brother! You know better!" I set them both down then pointed at two opposite corners of the Lair. "Michelangelo, you go over there! Raphael, sit over there! You obviously are not hungry for breakfast so you will sit until we are finished."

Michelangelo rounded on me in protest but I would have none of it, physically turning him back around and marching him to the corner where he preceeded to cry somewhat silently. Raphael crossed his arms and stared at the wall, not moving.

Moving somewhat stiffly, I turned and sat at the table. Leonardo looked at me for a moment over his flakes, an elated smile on his face. "_I_ was good Sensei! I-"

"Leonardo! You know better than to take pleasure in your brother's misbehavior. One more such comment and you will be joining them in a corner." The smile vanished from his face and he spent the remainder of the meal looking at his cereal. Donatello was silent the entire time. In truth, among all the commotion, I had forgotten that he was here. Momentarily I was tempted to say something, but for the life of me could think of nothing to say. He had been silent and withdrawn like this ever since he had started misbehaving, daydreaming instead of listening. I was not sure what to make of it. My son in purple was so...different from anyone that I was used to dealing with, that at many times I was at a loss.

As soon as breakfast was over I allowed them free time to do as they pleased until our lessons. Leonardo tried to practice some of his ninjitsu lessons on his own, Raphael was hitting the dummy that I had the good fortune to find nearly six months ago and Michelangelo was playing with his toys. Scanning the Lair for my fourth son, I found him sitting sullenly on the couch, not doing anything. Troubled, I approached him. "Donatello, why don't you go and play?"

He bit his lip and shook his head. "I can't."

My brow furrowed. "But surely you can just-"

"NO! I can't!" He sprang from the couch and ran to his room, out of sight. My first reaction was to follow him, but then I decided against it. He seemed to want to be alone, and what could I say? I could not _force_ him to play. I have tried to sit down and talk to him before, about what he is feeling, but this always seemed to make it worse. It hurt me, that I could see that my son so plainly needed..._something_, but I could not figure out what it was. It was frustrating, I tried so hard as a father, but it was times like this where my own failure seemed to cut deep within me. If only I was human, I could go and seek advice, maybe see what I was missing...I shook my head. Stop wishing such foolish things, Splinter! You cannot change what is. I would simply have to try to figure out Donatello on my own, with luck I would not ruin things further.

Ninjitsu training did not see much improvement. This was quickly becoming nearly all my son's favorite time, though for various reasons. Michelangelo loved that this was the one time when I actually _encouraged_ him to jump around, the sheer energy that he expended during these times was enough to make me tired. Leonardo enjoyed the movement and in some ways the discipline. Already he was shaping up to be the most skilled among his brothers. Raphael saw it as yet another avenue to vent the temper that was so plain within him and relished seeing what his body could do. Donatello was the only one who did not seem to be into it like his brothers. He was always hesitant, always overthinking, though since his different behavior had surfaced this was coupled with what I saw as daydreaming. He would slow his movements until he was immobile, eyes staring off somewhere else, brain working on something else. It was at these times where either his brothers knocked him down when they were sparring or I had to correct him if we were doing it individually. Each correction, especially when it came from me, seemed to wear him down thinner and thinner. By the end of our session he always seemed to be on the verge of tears.

His brothers nearly always took advantage.

"Why'd I hafta go against Donnie again? He's _so slow_ that there's no challenge to it! Maybe next time I should just go against the practice dummy!" Raphael laughed.

Leonardo shook his head. "You shouldn't say that, Raph. Some of us just aren't any good at this stuff."

"You mean Don, right?" Michelangelo quipped.

Donatello visibly retreated further within himself, his face darkening.

I groaned inwardly. Yet again, can we not do ONE session without this! "Raphael! Leonardo! Michelangelo! Twenty flips, now!"

They all moaned and groaned as they lined up to do their punishment, though when I turned around Donatello had once again retreated into his room. I looked at the entryway, worried.

Surely our educational lessons would be better. That had always been Donatello's favorite lesson. Already he was reading at a high school level, his mathematics and science levels were up there as well. I had recently found some high school textbooks and was looking forward to showing them to him. Perhaps that would brighten his spirits.

Ignoring the groans of protest when I announced that it was time for lessons, I quickly set the first grade workbooks in front of my other sons before going back into my room to retrieve the textbooks. I had gone through them earlier and fortunately discovered that there were questions and problems at the end of each chapter, which even more fortunately had the answers at the very end. I had already marked several pages that I thought would be a good starting point and hoped that Donatello would like them.

After setting up the other three, which I did first because directing them was easier (in truth some of what was discussed in the high school textbooks were a little beyond me, especially the math and science). Then I proudly presented the books to Donatello, my eyes searching his face for that familiar light when he became excited over such things. While he did brighten slightly, he still looked bored as I directed him the chapters he was to read and give him the questions that he was to answer. He said the appropriate thank you's for the books, but the words seemed mechanical. Honestly I was slightly crestfallen. My hopes seemed dashed. Silently I scolded myself. How could I think that something so simple would solve the issues you have been having with your most educationally gifted child? He was too complex for that. I felt heavy. I could feel him slipping away. I was doing something wrong, I knew it, but what? I did not understand, that alone was horrible to me. A father was supposed to understand his sons, right? What kind of father was I being to Donatello? I was failing him at best.

The rest of the day seemed to drag. I knew that my mood was affecting the others but for the life of me I could not manage to lift it. Each time I looked at Donatello it was as if looking into the eyes of my own failure. True, he did take the textbooks after lessons and continue to do more work, but he seemed to lack all pleasure in it. It was more as if he was doing this simply for something to do, and also perhaps in an attempt to please me if the furtive glances my way were any indication. This seemed like more of a blow. It was obvious that he felt the drift as well, and just like I was doing, was attempting to placate me. I should not have to be placated, I was missing something. This troubled me to no end.

Partially in an attempt to try to distract myself I pulled out my electronic manuals and my tools and decided to try and tackle the oven and stove. It was like trying to swim in syrup. When I thought that I had found the accurate direction for the area that I was working on, the next thing I took apart destroyed that illusion. After an hour I had pieces and parts scattered throughout the entire kitchen and I had to admit that I was lost. Inwardly I seethed. This was my best find in a while, the best stove that I had discovered in a long time, and here I had ruined it already! I had no idea how to put this thing together, who was I kidding! As my eyes scanned over all the parts all around me I slammed the wrench in my hand on the floor in anger. Stupid! Your sons were depending on you! How many times was I to fail one or all of them today! Tail lashing in anger I got up and walked away from it, too furious to even try to pick up my mess today. I would do it tomorrow, although by the noises that my plug-in single burner was making, I might be going without tea in the morning.

Exhausted, I put everyone to bed early despite that protests and retired to my room, almost as if I could shut away my own troubles.

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A noise awoke me. I lay on my mat, staring at the ceiling for a moment before looking at the clock. It wasn't too late, not even midnight. I knew without looking that it was one of my sons since no strange scent permeated the Lair. Now the only question was which?

Groaning to myself I picked myself up, hauling myself on my feet and slowly, silently sliding open my door. Noiselessly creeping across the Lair I saw the light on in the kitchen and peered in.

There was Donatello, sitting among the pieces of oven, using the tools that I had left on the floor in my anger. My fist clenched, my first urge being to storm in there and punish him. But something, some feeling in my chest, made me hold back. I had long since learned to follow this feeling, so despite my better judgement I stayed and observed him for a little longer.

He had the manual open beside him, flipping through the pages and apparently after finding exactly what he was looking for used the tools to attach to pieces. Then he nearly crawled inside the oven, connecting it in a place that I had never thought of putting it. Testing the knobs, a single burner on the oven began to heat up. He nodded and turned it off, apparently to work on the other three. I stared in astonishment. I had not come close to getting _any_ of them to work! And here was my young son, doing what I could not, by himself in the dark!

An understanding started to seep within me and I inwardly kicked myself. For some reason it had never occurred to me that he might actually _know what he was doing_ when he took apart appliances. It seemed impossible, despite his skill with the textbooks, he had seemed much too young to be able to tackle something like this. Apparently I was more than wrong. How could I have misunderstood him so drastically! True, out of all of my sons he was the most different from myself, but that was no excuse. I was his father.

Abruptly he turned around and saw me. Immediately he scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide. Hands darting behind his back, he looked down at his feet, tears already beginning to form in his eyes. "I-I-I-I'm sorry Master Splinter! I-I wanted t-to make you happy! I j-j-just wanted t-to fix it for you! I-"

I held up my hand, silencing his protests. Tears were now running unchecked down his cheeks. He was biting his lip to keep from sobbing outright though his tiny shoulders shook with the effort. I sat down to his level and immediately enveloped him in a hug, my own guilt, my own self anger...I needed this as much as he did. He was surprised at first but then hugged me back with his skinny arms and released his sobs, burrowing his face into the fur of my shoulder. With a gentle hand I stroked his head. "No. It is I who should be sorry, my son. I have obviously underestimated you, I have misunderstood you. I am sorry." I blinked hard, trying to keep my own tears at bay, having to swallow past the lump in my throat. Oh, how could I have been so wrong!

When his sobs subsided to little hiccups, I held him away and gave him a small smile. "What have you done here, Donatello?" I asked with a light voice.

He gave me a tremulous smile. "Well, the algorithms in the manual were a little hard to understand at first, but after I read through all the manuals and looked at the parts they started to make sense and I was pretty sure I could fix it."

I stared at the manuals. He _read_ those! To me that sounded as interesting as watching paint dry. "How long have you been wanting to do this?"

He stared at the floor and blushed slightly on his tear-reddened cheeks. "I don't know. I've just been so frustrated lately. It's still fun to learn stuff, but it's so irritating, I'm not doing anything with it! It's just sitting in my head not doing _anything!"_ He smacked his little clenched fists against his head. "I knew I wanted to do something with it, but I didn't know what! Then I saw stuff that needed to be fixed and it was so _cool_ that I just did it when I wasn't supposed to. I forgot about how you liked the tools, and I used them without asking and I was being stupid for being so bad and I-"

I interrupted him again, seeing the tears brim on his eyes once more. "I am proud of you, Donatello. This is my fault for failing to realize your potential and challenge you where you obviously needed it. I am sorry for scolding you for the other stove."

He stared at me with wide eyes, obviously surprised that his father was apologizing to _him_ for something. I smiled, as an idea hit me. Standing up I straightened my robe and looked around. "But, we cannot have you work on things like this." His face fell but my smile stayed, knowing that he would like what I had in store for him. "I feel that...you may need your own space for such things."

His puzzlement was apparent. "Uh, I...what?"

"Come."

Dutifully he followed me as I led him to one side of the Lair that did not often get used. Huge double doors were in the middle of it. Grasping each door I heaved them apart to reveal a large area easily a quarter the size of the entire Lair. I gestured him in and he walked in the space, mouth gaping open and wonder in his eyes. "What is this?" He said in an almost reverent whisper.

"It is an additional room. I was planning on using it for storage, but to be truthful we never seem to acquire enough to utilize even a third of this space. I was thinking that instead it could be your work room. It even has a single functioning outlet."

He whipped around, his eyes wide with excitement that I had not seen in months. "Mine? You mean like a lab? My own lab!"

I laughed as his sudden smile nearly split his face in two. "You can call it whatever you like. And yes, it is yours."

Elation filled my heart as he danced around the space in an uncharacteristic display of joyous energy. He hopped up and down excitedly. "Oh, there's so much I want to do! I can fix the stove, if you find a full size fridge I bet I can fix that too. That one will be so _fun!_ And - ooooh! I bet I can get the rest of the outlets to work! And..." his smile faltered slightly. "But I'll need more tools for that. And those are so hard for you to find..."

I shook my head. "No. You can have mine."

He stared at me in open faced astonishment. "_REALLY?!_"

I laughed again. "You seem to be much more adept at using them than I ever could. Of course you can have them."

His squeal of delight was music to my ears even as tears formed in my eyes. Perhaps I was not such a failure to Donatello as I had originally thought. True, he presented unique challenges, but perhaps that was the way it was supposed to be. Nobody ever said that fatherhood was an easy thing. I loved him as much as I loved my other sons, and although I now realized that I may truly never completely understand everything about him, at least I could learn to be more supportive of those that I did not understand.

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How did you like it? I really wanted to showcase Splinter's imperfection a little, and some unique challenges with a gifted child. This is actually partially based on my own daughter, who I at first punished for acting up in school when she started kindergarten. Then I had her tested and found that she was at a second grade level and was acting up out of boredom, but I still felt bad about not realizing that beforehand.

I DO want to do a Leo-centric and a Mikey-centric story. Someone suggested something with Leo and Space Heroes but I want to do something relating more to childhood, mostly will take place before Don figures out how to get TV in there, something related to their personality. Any and all suggestions would be greatly appreciated.

My son is heavy into the 'why' phase right now and I'm now working on a oneshot about that.

Also if you like my stuff I have a TMNT/zombie fic with all TMNT pov's and a Don-centric fic, though those are angsty-gorey, not feel good like this one!


	4. Anniversary

I don't own the TMNT

Special thanks to LittleKy for helping me hammer out the details on this.

One note on this, I am writing this in the Nick series where Splinter was originally a human. Remember that traditional Japanese culture involves not showing emotion, especially men. Since he was also a trained ninja, this would only be exemplified. So please keep that in mind if you think he's being cold!

I'm going through some serious stuff at home right now and writing has always been therapeutic for me so I've been writing a frenzy. As a result, this may be more emotional than originally intended.

Turtle Age: 4

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My eyes opened, staring at the dark vaulted ceiling above me. For a moment I simply lay there, unmoving. The silence seemed to soak into my very soul, not a sound save the slight drip and distant rumblings of subway systems managing to reach my sensitive ears.

I knew without looking at the clock that I had awoken early. It is not as if I did not know why.

Today was the day.

Five years ago today, Oroku Saki once again entered my life, laid waste to my home, slaughtered my family.

When I blinked I could feel the hot tears threatening behind the lids. I sighed. I thought I was over the tears, I had decided long ago that they save nothing. In fact, even during the rare occurrences that they were shed, they were hesitant, I was always holding back. But I never was one to cry.

That was a sign of weakness.

Rolling out of bed, I got to my feet and strode to my dresser, which was really a scavenged desk. A small enclosed shelf sat upon it. Lighting a candle, I opened it, grimacing at the squeal in the hinges. After all, I had not opened it in a while. Within sat the lone picture scavenged from the wreckage of my home, the one tangible sign that this was not all a dream, that this really did happen, that I truly once lived that life.

The images of Tang Shen and our daughter Miwa stared back at me. Their expressions seemed so cold and distant, at least at the moment. I always did hate pictures, I always preferred living my life in the flesh, not constantly behind a cold lense. Was that a wise decision? Now I would never know.

The flickering candle cast an eerie light in the dark shelves. It was so reminiscent of the flames that had engulfed my home, the heat dancing upon my skin as the tongues licked the last remnants of my life…I could almost feel it, smell it. Hear Tang Shen begging me to take care of our daughter as she died, feel the sheer panic as I searched the wreckage, not finding her tiny form. I had lost her forever. I had failed them both.

My sons, my current family, knew almost nothing about them. It was easier to avoid the subject, to not talk about it. Whenever they asked about my past I managed to avoid the question, redirect it. I know I would not be able to do it forever, but for now it was all I knew to do. So I kept the only picture of them locked away behind the doors to my room and the additional doors in the cabinet. I could not look at them on a day to day basis. It was easier to avoid thinking of them altogether. I did not want the constant reminder.

With a grunt I slammed it shut, then stood there, both palms planted on the hard surface, my own body trembling as I struggled to control my own emotions. I fought hard against the lump slowly forming in my throat.

What good would it do? I already knew what happened, nothing could be done about it. Normally, I was able to selfishly push the memory back in my own mind, but once a year, somehow this anniversary forced me to face it. To stare at my loss, at my failure.

Pushing away from it, I tried to sit down and meditate, but my mind continued to return to that scene. When I had lost them all. When they died terribly, and I was unable to defend them, to protect them, to be there for them.

Soon I found myself slumped instead of my usual disciplined position. It was no use.

So I wandered our home, tidying up, quietly cleaning. Anything to keep myself busy, to try to keep from thinking of what plagued my mind, my soul. I felt so much like a shell of myself, it was as if I was a ghost, slowly shifting from place to place. The only thing that seemed real was the intense sorrow that seemed to weigh me down so hard it was a wonder I did not sink into the ground.

The time approached where I normally woke up my sons. My new family since I had lost my old one. In my current mood, I wondered when the time would come when I would lose them as well. Surely it would happen…

I shook myself. I must put myself together, make myself presentable. At least for the sake of my sons. They were all I had left.

Yet as I prepared my cup of tea, I found myself slowly sinking in the chair, watching the usual wake up time come and go. I was numb yet emotionally frayed. Unable to move.

It would not hurt to let them sleep in. Surely they would not think anything odd about that, right? If anything, it gave me a moment longer of peace. Somehow I could sense that, in my own fragility, that I could not take a lot of stress today. Yet even that admission, the situation, seemed incredibly selfish. It only seemed like another blow. I sunk lower in the chair.

Yet after fifteen minutes had passed, Leonardo emerged from his room, chubby fist rubbing his eyes. "Daddy? Is it morning?"

Of course he would be the one to wake up. Why could he not have slept in today? I managed a smile. "Yes, Leonardo. It is."

Brow wrinkling in confusion, he looked around. "Why didn't you wake us up?"

Sorrowful lethargy seeping into my very bones, I gave a half-hearted shrug. I couldn't even muster an answer. How pathetic.

Suddenly his eyes widened and a smile spread across his face. "Father, can _I _wake them up?"

Sure, what the hell. I nodded.

He clapped his hands together and squealed with delight. Turning on his heel, he quickly disappeared into the room. I made a face, instantly regretting my decision. This was not how a father was supposed to be, lazy, selfishly wallowing in their own sorrow. I tried to urge myself to get over it, but the words seemed empty and did nothing.

Not even able to face it, I got up slowly and stepped away from the table, my back to the chaos that was now ensuing behind me as I heard Raphael yell in anger, Michelangelo squeal and Donatello cry out amidst the chorus of squeaking bedsprings and Leonardo's happy squeals and gigles. Obviously Leonardo saw jumping on them as the best method of waking them up. He could have chosen better…

I gulped down my tea, wincing as it was too hot to swallow. Shuffling my feet slightly, I went to the pot and poured another cup. Ignoring the situation would not help, I knew, for it would soon come to me.

Sure enough tiny feet thundered against the floor as Michelangelo scrambled into view. "DAAAAAAADDD YYYY! Leo JUMPED on me!"

Leonardo appeared next to him, chest puffed out, making a face. "Well, you wouldn't wake up!"

Then Raphael appeared and jumped upon his brother's shell, toppling the surprised turtle to the ground. "DON'T do that AGAIN Leo, or I'll POUND you!" he yelled in his high pitched, young voice.

Leonardo immediately began crying as his brother sat on his shell, smacking his head with an open palm. As soon as the waterworks began he hopped off, as if the sudden distance would erase all guilt. Jabbing a finger at his bawling brother he stared at me. "HE started it!"

All the turtles chorused loud complaints and cries. My head pounded. It was too much. I rapped my staff angrily on the ground. Already, it was happening already. "ENOUGH! Leonardo, that is no way to wake your brothers. As punishment, you must make their breakfast. Raphael, that is not the way to solve your problems. Everyone, SIT!"

I was not in the mood to deal with breakfast anyway. Maybe it would work out. I tried not to look at the fact that I was being lazy, it was easier that way. My body still feeling incredibly heavy, laden with the grief within me, I sat down on the lone armchair that we had. It was in the area I had designated as living quarters. Perhaps it was enough distance away that I may be able to deal with this emotion.

I heard Michelangelo tap the table with a giggle. "Waiter! I want chocolate oatmeal!"

Leonardo grumbled. "We don't _have_ chocolate oatmeal! There IS no such thing as chocolate oatmeal!"

"But I want some!"

Donatello piped in. "Can you make omelets?"

"What about chocolate oatmeal?"

"We have eggs, right?"

Raphael snickered. "No, he needs to make me EVERYTHING in the kitchen, 'cause I'm EXTRA hungry! Go, fetch!"

Once again, bad idea. Not even turning, I yelled from my armchair. "All of you, one bowl of cereal. If I hear any bickering, then you all get nothing, am I clear?"

They all sighed in unison. "Yes Sensei."

Fortunately the rest of breakfast went without major incident, though Raphael did 'accidently' spill his cereal on Leonardo's lap and Michelangelo did 'accidently' try to hit all his brothers' noses with little bits of cereal. Not moving from my chair, not even looking in their direction I warned them to clean up all their mess.

Naturally this resulted in Michelangelo trying to use dish soap on the table, squirting it on it and with his bad aim getting Donatello on his head.

He squealed. "EEEW! It's so slimy!"

Michelangelo giggled. "Aren't turtles _supposed_ to be slimy?"

"That's _amphibians_ you dummy!"

"I'm not a dummy! Take THAT!" He purposefully aimed the soap at his brother and ended up squirting some in his mouth. Both Raphael and Leonardo erupted in screeching laughter.

Gagging, Donatello began to retch and spit on the floor, crying. "DAAAAADDDDY!"

My anger rose sharply and harshly. With the swift, purposeful movements of a predator I got from my chair and stalked over to my quarreling sons. Perhaps my own tumultuous emotion showed on my face, but they all immediately became silent, staring at me with wide eyes. But I was riding an emotional roller coaster right now and I could not stop it.

Grabbing Michelangelo by the arm I turned him and gave him several hard swats on his rump with the palm of my hand. He immediately began crying. My anger sharpened at the sound. "SILENCE!" Eyes wide, he clamped his mouth shut and managed to swallow his other cries, biting his lip to help him do so. Tears poured from his eyes. The air was deathly silent save some slight whimpers. I looked around to see the others with tears brimming in their eyes. They all held their hands over their own bottoms in anticipation. Indeed, in my current mood, I was daring them to try anything else.

I must be quite a sight right now.

Deep shame welled within me on top of everything else. I felt like hiding. What a horrible father I was. They deserved so much better. Blinking, I looked around and sighed. "Clean this up." I said in a soft voice. Swallowing, but not quite managing to get it past the growing lump in my throat, I backed up. The tears threatened but I managed to keep at bay. Turning, not saying a word, I walked back to my chair slowly, stiffly. As if I had just aged considerably.

How would Tang Shen have handled this? I am sure she would have been much better. Even with Miwa, she could always soothe her best.

The four turtles cleaned the mess in such stark silence that I had to turn around to make sure that they were doing what they were supposed to. They were, in fact, industriously cleaning their mess, lips quivering as tear drops trickled down their cheeks.

The lump in my throat became painful and I put a hand on my eyes, hiding in my self imposed blindness. I was so ashamed. How rashly I had acted, I could not believe it. I had allowed my own emotional turmoil to hurt my sons. I should get up, tell them how I had over reacted, but my body would not move. My desire to be alone seemed to weigh within my soul. The battling within me left me so exhausted. It was no use. Nothing was of any use.

Yet still, the tears would not come. They should not come. I was stronger than that.

I had never cried in front of Tang Shen, not even while she died. The tears had come after that. Would she have thought less of me for that, or wished that she could have seen them? Why was I thinking of this? It would not bring her back, it would not bring Miwa back. What would my sons think, of how I had failed to protect them? Would they think that the same fate would befall them? That I would fail them too?

God, would this wretched day never end.

I was not sure how much time had passed, but I started when a small hand touched my thigh. Taking my hand from my eyes, I looked to see Michelangelo standing by my feet. Eyes swollen with tears, he hesitantly tried to crawl into my lap.

But I gently held him back. I could not cuddle right now. I just could not. He bit his trembling lower lip. "I-I-I'm sorry D-Daddy. I'm sorry!" Not looking down, he looked me eye to eye as the tears slowly welled over his lids.

His tone seemed to twist my insides. The guilt and sorrow grew stonger. I gave a slight smile. "It is ok, Michelangelo."

I could sense the others gather around me, mouths still clamped in silence. I felt like shrinking into my robe, or better yet going back to bed, and never getting up. Michelangelo looked at me in a way that seemed deeper than his years. "What's wrong Daddy? Why are you sad?"

He was asking this, after I punished him so harshly? It somehow made me feel so much worse. I touched his cheek. "Nothing, my son." The lie felt bitter on my tongue, but I swallowed it. I had to. Looking at all of them, I gave a weak smile. "I am simply not feeling well. No lessons today, just please try to keep quiet and clean up after yourself."

With small murmurs of "Yes, Sensei" they silently dispersed. Michelangelo lingered, looking at me with dark eyes. After giving him a pointed look, he slowly backed away and headed to his room.

They surprisingly obeyed me, for the most part. Perhaps it was because my mood had penetrated them, for all of their movements were slight, as if they had to stay in their own bubble or else they would burst. They all played on their own. Except for the sounds of their play they were eerily silent, all their movements depressed and slow. I could see them dart their eyes to me every once in a while.

Several times I turned to see Michelangelo staring at me with wide eyes. I would stare back at him. The look in his eyes, he wanted to say something. But my mood was testy. Though I was sad, I was upset, depressed, this seemed to put my temper at a hair trigger. Perhaps he knew this, or at least sensed it. For he didn't approach me, he stayed his distance.

The entire scene, the entire situation weighed even heavier on my mind. Everywhere I looked I could see reminders of myself, of my actions, of my failures. The very depression that enveloped me seemed to steep itself into every inch of my home. It made me feel heavier. My sorrow seemed so deep. Every other thought was of Tang Shen, Miwa and that tragic night, then I would see my sons and the blow was just as deep.

The day dragged on painfully. Lunch was eaten in silence, my son's depressingly muted. My own mood had indeed affected all, and it only made me feel worse. Every once in a while one of them would try and do something deliberately playful, lighthearted. But I could not bring myself to laugh or even smile. It seemed to break down the overall mood even further. Dinner was no better. It had to be the worst day in a very long time. Though we had hardly moved, in fact had been lethargic and sedentary most the day, we were exhausted. When I told them to go to bed, nearly an hour before their regular time, there were no complaints. We dispersed with nearly no word or gesture to each other. It was almost as if we were simply friends or acquaintences instead of family. How much it hurt, I could not even have imagined.

Was it like this in previous years? Surely it had to be similar, but before they were younger. Their reactions had to be different, less defined. Did that mean that next year it would be worse? I did not even want to contemplate it.

Even as I lay down my melancholy got stronger. I was destroying our family with what I was experiencing, what I was allowing myself to do. How could I do this? Everything was dragging so much, would it be better the next day? Perhaps not, this anniversary was worse than any of the others, except perhaps the first.

I just had to go to sleep. Make this day end.

Yet even as I drifted to sleep, the memories continued to plague me. In my dream, I saw Tang Shen die in my arms again and again and again. She screamed, the flames danced in joy, Oroku Saki laughed. Then another dream. I was searching for Miwa. I could hear her crying. But no matter where I searched, where I looked, how hard I dug through the wreckage, I could never find her.

Then I could feel someone…Tang Shen?...holding me. Cradling my head. Stroking my fur, crooning in my ear. I gripped her tiny arms even as she moved me on her small lap…

My eyes opened. Something wasn't right. Then I saw that I was indeed in a lap, my head being cradled in Michelangelo's arms as he gently ran his fingers in my fur.

My first reaction was to get up, scold him and send him to bed. Yet, as I was all day, I simply lay there. Oddly this was comforting, I had never considered…

The lump in my throat was still so painful. It begged release, yet could I do it? No, of course not. I could not do it all these years.

Michelangelo crooned softly, gently rocking me. I found myself clinging to him. "It's alright Daddy. I love you. We all love you so much."

Then it released. I started to weep. At first the tears came out gently, then it came in more racking sobs. The entire time Michelangelo stayed, holding me, cradling me, his grip gently tightening as my cries became more intense. Slowly we shifted, so that I was cradling him to my chest, enveloping him within me, rocking him as I released my sorrow.

He was silent through it all. Simply lying still and allowing him to manipulate as I needed, only moving to coddle me, stroke my fur, snuggle deeper.

I am not sure how long we lay together like that, but at the end of it, when my tears finally ended neither of us said a word. We simply lay there, deriving comfort from each other. I tried to register what had just happened. I had always thought, had been taught, to minimize emotion, to not show it, to do so was weakness. Then why did I feel so much lighter?

Blinking, I looked around the room and was surprised to see the picture on the floor by my bed. Michelangelo must have found it before he came to me. Truly I should be angry. He had not only invaded my room without permission, he went through my personal belongings. But in truth I could find no anger. Instead I simply stared at the picture, almost as if seeing it for the first time. They were my family…

"She's pretty." Michelangleo whispered.

I smiled even as I tucked his head against me with my chin, allowing his face to burrow within the fur of my neck. At any other time, I would avoid the statement as I often did. I never did want to look in on my past, it was too painful. Yet now, without thinking of it, I did not follow my usual path. "Yes, she was."

He snuggled deeper. "She's your wife?"

"Yes."

"Is the baby yours?"

I swallowed. "Yes" I whispered hoarsely.

"Where are they?"

My lip trembled. I should stop. I really should. "They are dead."

"Is that why you're sad?"

I could not answer. Instead I simply nodded. Part of me could not believe I was holding this conversation. Another part…perhaps it was needed more than I had previously thought.

He was silent for a moment. "They still love you, just like we do."

That was not what I expected. Feeling fresh tears start to threaten beneath my lids, I moved him so that I could look into his face. "What did you say?"

He looked at me with wide, innocent, caring eyes and gave me a smile. "They'll always love you. You said love doesn't die. _You_ said so! We love you too. More than anything else in the whole wide world!"

I could say nothing else. I crushed his small body to my chest, embracing him to my heart. He burrowed deeper, wrapping his little arms around my chest, obviously thrilled to be snuggling this close. He loved me so much. All my sons loved me. And I loved them.

How stupid I had been. Perhaps it was time to take the picture out of the cupboard. I could put it on the shelf in the main area. Allow them to ask questions as they became curious. We could talk about them. Perhaps these anniversaries would become easier to bear.

It could be easier if I had the love of my sons supporting me.

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Alright, I was originally going to have this as a MikeCentric chapter, but it kind of morphed into more of a SplinterCentric kind of thing...or maybe a mix? My intention was to play on what I had perceived as Mike's empathy, he always seemed like the most emotional of the bunch. I also wanted to play on how the kids can sometimes help the parents through things, after all parents aren't perfect. Thoughts?

Please read and review! Once again, if you have any ideas you would like me to use please feel free to tell me either via review or pm.

**ALERT!** The TMNT Fanfiction competition time is fast approaching! We have a new Stealthy Stories website, the link is on my profile so please check it out. The competition will take place on Stealthy Stories. At the end of the year you can nominate your favorite author or story for any applicable category, several months will be given to read the stories nominated, then voting will take place. I am helping with the competition this year so please feel free to ask me any questions!


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